The Culprit Fay and Other Poems Part 1

The Culprit Fay.

by Joseph Rodman Drake.

"My visual orbs are purged from film, and lo!

"Instead of Anster's turnip-bearing vales "I see old fairy land's miraculous show!

"Her trees of tinsel kissed by freakish gales, "Her Ouphs that, cloaked in leaf-gold, skim the breeze, "And fairies, swarming--"

TENNANT'S ANSTER FAIR.

I.

'Tis the middle watch of a summer's night-- The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright; Nought is seen in the vault on high But the moon, and the stars, and the cloudless sky, And the flood which rolls its milky hue, A river of light on the welkin blue.

The moon looks down on old Cronest, She mellows the shades on his s.h.a.ggy breast, And seems his huge gray form to throw In a sliver cone on the wave below; His sides are broken by spots of shade, By the walnut bough and the cedar made, And through their cl.u.s.tering branches dark Glimmers and dies the fire-fly's spark-- Like starry twinkles that momently break Through the rifts of the gathering tempest's rack.

II.

The stars are on the moving stream, And fling, as its ripples gently flow, A burnished length of wavy beam In an eel-like, spiral line below; The winds are whist, and the owl is still, The bat in the shelvy rock is hid, And nought is heard on the lonely hill But the cricket's chirp, and the answer shrill Of the gauze-winged katy-did; And the plaint of the wailing whip-poor-will, Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings, Ever a note of wail and wo, Till morning spreads her rosy wings, And earth and sky in her glances glow.

III.

'Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell: The wood-tick has kept the minutes well; He has counted them all with click and stroke, Deep in the heart of the mountain oak, And he has awakened the sentry elve Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree, To bid him ring the hour of twelve, And call the fays to their revelry; Twelve small strokes on his tinkling bell-- ('Twas made of the white snail's pearly sh.e.l.l:--) "Midnight comes, and all is well!

Hither, hither, wing your way!

'Tis the dawn of the fairy day."

IV.

They come from beds of lichen green, They creep from the mullen's velvet screen; Some on the backs of beetles fly From the silver tops of moon-touched trees, Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high, And rock'd about in the evening breeze; Some from the hum-bird's downy nest-- They had driven him out by elfin power, And pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast, Had slumbered there till the charmed hour; Some had lain in the scoop of the rock, With glittering ising-stars inlaid; And some had opened the four-o'clock, And stole within its purple shade.

And now they throng the moonlight glade, Above--below--on every side, Their little minim forms arrayed In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride!

V.

They come not now to print the lea, In freak and dance around the tree, Or at the mushroom board to sup, And drink the dew from the b.u.t.tercup;-- A scene of sorrow waits them now, For an Ouphe has broken his vestal vow; He has loved an earthly maid, And left for her his woodland shade; He has lain upon her lip of dew, And sunned him in her eye of blue, Fann'd her cheek with his wing of air, Played in the ringlets of her hair, And, nestling on her snowy breast, Forgot the lily-king's behest.

For this the shadowy tribes of air To the elfin court must haste away:-- And now they stand expectant there, To hear the doom of the Culprit Fay.

VI.

The throne was reared upon the gra.s.s Of spice-wood and of sa.s.safras; On pillars of mottled tortoise-sh.e.l.l Hung the burnished canopy-- And o'er it gorgeous curtains fell Of the tulip's crimson drapery.

The monarch sat on his judgment-seat, On his brow the crown imperial shone, The prisoner Fay was at his feet, And his peers were ranged around the throne.

He waved his sceptre in the air, He looked around and calmly spoke; His brow was grave and his eye severe, But his voice in a softened accent broke:

VII.

"Fairy! Fairy! list and mark, Thou hast broke thine elfin chain, Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark, And thy wings are dyed with a deadly stain-- Thou hast sullied thine elfin purity In the glance of a mortal maiden's eye, Thou hast scorned our dread decree, And thou shouldst pay the forfeit high, But well I know her sinless mind Is pure as the angel forms above, Gentle and meek, and chaste and kind, Such as a spirit well might love; Fairy! had she spot or taint, Bitter had been thy punishment.

Tied to the hornet's shardy wings; Tossed on the p.r.i.c.ks of nettles' stings; Or seven long ages doomed to dwell With the lazy worm in the walnut-sh.e.l.l; Or every night to writhe and bleed Beneath the tread of the centipede; Or bound in a cobweb dungeon dim, Your jailer a spider huge and grim, Amid the carrion bodies to lie, Of the worm, and the bug, and the murdered fly: These it had been your lot to bear, Had a stain been found on the earthly fair.

Now list, and mark our mild decree-- Fairy, this your doom must be:

VIII.

"Thou shalt seek the beach of sand Where the water bounds the elfin land, Thou shalt watch the oozy brine Till the sturgeon leaps in the bright moons.h.i.+ne, Then dart the glistening arch below, And catch a drop from his silver bow.

The water-sprites will wield their arms And dash around, with roar and rave, And vain are the woodland spirits' charms, They are the imps that rule the wave.

Yet trust thee in thy single might, If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right, Thou shalt win the warlock fight.

IX.

"If the spray-bead gem be won, The stain of thy wing is washed away, But another errand must be done Ere thy crime be lost for aye; Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark, Thou must re-illume its spark.

Mount thy steed and spur him high To the heaven's blue canopy; And when thou seest a shooting star, Follow it fast, and follow it far-- The last faint spark of its burning train Shall light the elfin lamp again.

Thou hast heard our sentence, Fay; Hence! to the water-side, away!"

X.

The goblin marked his monarch well; He spake not, but he bowed him low, Then plucked a crimson colen-bell, And turned him round in act to go.

The way is long, he cannot fly, His soiled wing has lost its power, And he winds adown the mountain high, For many a sore and weary hour.

Through dreary beds of tangled fern, Through groves of nightshade dark and dern, Over the gra.s.s and through the brake, Where toils the ant and sleeps the snake; Now o'er the violet's azure flush He skips along in lightsome mood; And now he thrids the bramble bush, Till its points are dyed in fairy blood.

He has leapt the bog, he has pierced the briar, He has swum the brook, and waded the mire, Till his spirits sank, and his limbs grew weak, And the red waxed fainter in his cheek.

He had fallen to the ground outright, For rugged and dim was his onward track, But there came a spotted toad in sight, And he laughed as he jumped upon her back; He bridled her mouth with a silk-weed twist; He lashed her sides with an osier thong; And now through evening's dewy mist, With leap and spring they bound along, Till the mountain's magic verge is past, And the beach of sand is reached at last.

XI.

Soft and pale is the moony beam, Moveless still the gla.s.sy stream, The wave is clear, the beach is bright With snowy sh.e.l.ls and sparkling stones; The sh.o.r.e-surge comes in ripples light, In murmurings faint and distant moans; And ever afar in the silence deep Is heard the splash of the sturgeon's leap, And the bend of his graceful bow is seen-- A glittering arch of silver sheen, Spanning the wave of burnished blue, And dripping with gems of the river dew.

XII.

The elfin cast a glance around, As he lighted down from his courser toad, Then round his breast his wings he wound, And close to the river's brink he strode; He sprang on a rock, he breathed a prayer, Above his head his arms he threw, Then tossed a tiny curve in air, And headlong plunged in the waters blue.

XIII.

Up sprung the spirits of the waves, From sea-silk beds in their coral caves, With snail-plate armour s.n.a.t.c.hed in haste, They speed their way through the liquid waste; Some are rapidly borne along On the mailed shrimp or the p.r.i.c.kly p.r.o.ng, Some on the blood-red leeches glide, Some on the stony star-fish ride, Some on the back of the lancing squab, Some on the sidelong soldier-crab; And some on the jellied quarl, that flings At once a thousand streamy stings-- They cut the wave with the living oar And hurry on to the moonlight sh.o.r.e, To guard their realms and chase away The footsteps of the invading Fay.

XIV.

Fearlessly he skims along, His hope is high, and his limbs are strong, He spreads his arms like the swallow's wing, And throws his feet with a frog-like fling; His locks of gold on the waters s.h.i.+ne, At his breast the tiny foam-beads rise, His back gleams bright above the brine, And the wake-line foam behind him lies.

But the water-sprites are gathering near To check his course along the tide; Their warriors come in swift career And hem him round on every side; On his thigh the leech has fixed his hold, The quarl's long arms are round him roll'd, The p.r.i.c.kly p.r.o.ng has pierced his skin, And the squab has thrown his javelin, The gritty star has rubbed him raw, And the crab has struck with his giant claw; He howls with rage, and he shrieks with pain, He strikes around, but his blows are vain; Hopeless is the unequal fight, Fairy! nought is left but flight.

XV.

He turned him round and fled amain With hurry and dash to the beach again; He twisted over from side to side, And laid his cheek to the cleaving tide.

The strokes of his plunging arms are fleet, And with all his might he flings his feet, But the water-sprites are round him still, To cross his path and work him ill.

They bade the wave before him rise; They flung the sea-fire in his eyes, And they stunned his ears with the scallop stroke, With the porpoise heave and the drum-fish croak.

Oh! but a weary wight was he When he reached the foot of the dog-wood tree; --Gashed and wounded, and stiff and sore, He laid him down on the sandy sh.o.r.e; He blessed the force of the charmed line, And he banned the water-goblin's spite, For he saw around in the sweet moons.h.i.+ne, Their little wee faces above the brine, Giggling and laughing with all their might At the piteous hap of the Fairy wight.

XVI.

Soon he gathered the balsam dew From the sorrel leaf and the henbane bud; Over each wound the balm he drew, And with cobweb lint he stanched the blood.

The mild west wind was soft and low, It cooled the heat of his burning brow, And he felt new life in his sinews shoot, As he drank the juice of the cal'mus root; And now he treads the fatal sh.o.r.e, As fresh and vigorous as before.

XVII.